Armed and Dangerous
by M C Pehrson
Summary: Story #42 Spock and his wife Lauren are fugitives from the law. He is still not pleased with the situation, and by now she's had about enough of his attitude. While searching for the one person who might clear Spock of the original charge against him, they encounter an interesting character from his past.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

A rhythmic chanting of children's voices drifted dreamlike on the balmy air. Standing inside a hostel, Lauren Fielding listened with her arms crossed, her back resting against a wall made of nothing more than reeds. The woven matting stretched and creaked under her weight, but she knew it would hold. She was not so sure if she would.

With a sigh she turned and lifted the reed-cloth curtain from the window hole, and gazed out across the plaza. Brightly clad schoolchildren sat around their teacher in the shade of a tree. Here on Walker's World, the sky had a yellowish cast and the colonists' children were deeply tanned, but even so they sharply reminded Lauren of her own sons and daughter far away on Earth. Pain twisted in her heart as she thought of them. Was Simon upset with her? Was James well? Was lively little Teresa minding her grandmother?

Lauren had felt so certain that she was doing the right thing when she broke Spock out of prison. She was a doctor. She was his wife. How could she leave him to deteriorate on that miserable moon base when there was a chance—however slim—of setting him free and searching out the spiteful young woman who likely framed him? Now, after two months on the run, fleeing from planet to planet with someone who seemed more like a stranger than a husband, she was no longer sure of anything.

Freedom? There was nothing free about the life of a fugitive. Medical care? What could she offer him beyond a few pills? On Maxis II some rough characters had robbed them of most of their pharmaceuticals, and the few remaining drugs would soon be used up.

Biting her lower lip, she turned from the window. Spock sat at an old battered table laboriously decoding the latest Starfleet transmission he had intercepted on their receiver. It was slow work, even with the aid of a tricorder he had reprogrammed to assist him. She would give her eyeteeth for this nightmare to be over, and Spock's name cleared once and for all. Then maybe he would let down his Vulcan guard and learn to share himself with her again.

Lauren watched his once nimble fingers move slowly and deliberately over a datapadd, and found herself thinking of last night. There was a time when her touch would draw a willing response from him, but now he invariably pulled away. All they had left was each other, and he was denying her even that comfort. _Why?_ He said there were things about prison life that he wasn't ready to disclose. Was that the reason he was holding himself apart from her? Or was it really just anger? He had made it abundantly clear that he did not approve of her leaving the children and putting herself into jeopardy with him. But wouldn't he have done the same thing for her?

Over on the table, the receiver let out a squawk of static. Spock reached to adjust it, but misjudged and hit the wrong control. The transmission shifted to a Federation news broadcast. Before he could correct his error, Lauren rushed over and turned up the volume.

"…son of Ambassador Sarek of Vulcan and former Starfleet hero is now wanted in connection with the death of a prison inmate whom he attacked shortly before his escape from custody. Today in a news conference, Starfleet Commander Jason Cho, warden of the Luna Correctional Facility, described the Vulcan's assault on his cellmate as 'unprovoked and brutal beyond belief'. At this hour a full-scale manhunt remains in effect for Spock and the human wife who aided in his escape. More on this story as it unfolds…"

Shaken, Lauren switched off the receiver and stared down at her husband. Spock's eyes avoided her and his mouth was drawn tight. In the terrible silence she could sense him retreating even further away, walling himself off in some private hell.

Surely this report was just another example of irresponsible journalism. Time and again there had been stories—wild accounts of their supposed crime spree, false sightings, even one detailed report of their deaths. But now she waited in vain for him to refute it.

"Spock," she pleaded.

Without a word he pushed himself up from the table and limped out the door. And she let him go—for at that instant the dismaying truth came to her, and she was more than happy to see him leave. Oh, he had attacked that prisoner, alright. Once, shortly after their marriage, she had been on the receiving end of a Vulcan rage and knew what he was capable of doing. Well, she had put up with him and his inexplicable ways long enough. Her life was in ruins. This time she was finished.

Or so she thought. Yet only an hour later she went out searching for Spock and found him on the outskirts of town. As remote as ever, he stood beside a marsh, gazing over the profusion of reeds. His hair had grown longer since leaving prison, effectively concealing the pointed tips of his ears. He looked very human in the casual, Earth-style clothes she had brought along.

These days she did not look much like herself, either. She used hair dye and cosmetic lenses that altered the color of her eyes. Since arriving on Walker's World, she had been a green-eyed brunette. She was sick of disguises, sick of running, and sick of Spock's uncommunicative behavior.

Taking a deep breath, she approached him.

Spock gave her a sidelong glance. "You should not have left the equipment untended. It would be difficult to replace if it were stolen."

 _"_ _You_ shouldn't have left _me,"_ she retorted.

"Lauren," he said with some impatience, "we had agreed—"

"To blazes with it," she cut in and patted the hard shape under her shirt. "I brought the phaser. The rest is security shielded under the bed. Now tell me what happened at Luna. Your cellmate was Leo Kessler—you were _friends."_

Spock looked out at the marsh and nodded. "Yes. We were friends."

"And now he's dead."

A warm breeze riffled his hair. Turning, he met her eyes briefly, then glanced away. "The man I attacked was not Kessler. His name was…Ronaldi. He came at me with a knife and I repelled him with more force than was necessary." The planes of his face went hard as stone. "Now you know. I lost control. If the guards had not intervened, I would likely have killed him then and there."

Lauren stared at him, unblinking, until her eyes burned. She was remembering how it felt when he came after _her._ That day, it had been a matter of pon farr passion, a matter of the male laying claim to his own. Sometimes now she even thought that she understood it. Perhaps this, too, she would understand—if only he would explain.

"You should have told me."

"I do not wish to discuss it," he declared, stiff as ever.

She felt like shaking him. "Spock, I'm your wife! This involves both of us—as well as our children. If you really are responsible for that man's death, it changes everything. Now, even if we find T'Naisa Brandt, even if we clear you of trying to kill Jim Kirk, there'll be this new charge to face."

"Yes," Spock said, as if to himself.

Lauren struggled to contain her anger. "Is that all you have to say? We're talking about our life—our whole future together."

An infuriating silence answered her. She was about to inform him that they _had_ no future together when she heard someone running along the village trail. A brown-skinned youth appeared. She recognized the innkeeper's son as he pulled up, short of breath.

"People!" the boy gasped in Standard. "People in Starfleet uniforms! They had a search warrant and phasers! They went into your room!"

Lauren's heart lodged in her throat.

Spock reached into his pocket and handed the boy a precious credit chit from their dwindling supply. "You've done well to warn us," he said. "Go now—hurry."

The youth bowed from the waist and left quickly. So Starfleet had caught up to them! Soon their pursuers would be commencing sensor sweeps, and Spock's half-Vulcan readings would make him an easy target. A moment ago she had been ready for them to part company, yet now she looked to her husband for some plan of escape.

Suddenly his eyes met hers and he said, "Give me the phaser."

Lauren handed over their outdated weapon. Spock checked its setting and placed it back into her grip so that the barrel was aimed directly at him. Instinctively she went to move it, but his hands remained over hers, holding the phaser on target. In the warmth of his touch she felt his mind reaching out, trying to calm her, trying to prepare her for what he was about to propose. 

Then he said it aloud, speaking so rapidly that she hardly had time to react. "I will walk before you to the village, where you will turn me in. You will explain how I used my mind to influence your behavior—that therefore you are not culpable for aiding in my escape from prison." Pain evident on his face, he hesitated. "I will now alter your memories so that you believe it."

Shock settled in. "You'd have me lie! You'd have me betray you!"

"I would have you return home. As you said, Ronaldi's death has changed everything. There is no use for us to continue on."

Lauren could still feel him working on her, using every Vulcan means at his disposal to make her yield. But she would have none of it. Wrenching free of his touch, she hurled the phaser into the marsh.

Spock turned on her with undisguised anger. "That was a foolish thing to do!"

"A _human_ thing, you mean," she countered. "Well, I guess we'll just have to keep on running, won't we? Unless you intend to take my mind and change it by force, like T'Naisa did to those crewmen. Then maybe I can chase you into town with a stick."

His eyes narrowed at her and he abruptly strode off with his limping gait, not looking to see whether or not she followed, and probably not caring. Lauren heard the predatory howl of a marsh-cat and did not waver for long. Around a bend in the dirt road they came upon a parked vehicle—a true ground car with donut tires. Spock paused beside it and glanced over the marshlands for some sign of its owner. She could almost see his mind working and was unsurprised when he reached out and tried the door. It opened.

Standing to one side, Lauren watched him. "Well, are you going to steal it or aren't you?"

Spock cast her a venomous glance and settled into the driver's seat. "I am going to _borrow_ it. If you are coming, get in."

"Go to hell," she replied. But then he started the engine and she was jumping into the passenger seat. A moment later she grabbed for handholds as the little car careened down the bumpy road. Near the local spaceport they hit pavement. With a screech of tires Spock swung through the port entrance and steered the "borrowed" vehicle into a parking space. Getting out, he quickly took stock of the vessels on the tarmac and headed straight for a disreputable wreck named "Stella".

Lauren's heart sank deeper and deeper as she tagged along. A motley-looking crew was working around the ship, tending to repairs and loading supplies. They stopped what they were doing and glared at them.

"Greetings," Spock said, assuming the pleasantry like a veteran actor. "I am interested in securing working berths for my companion and myself. Who among you is the captain?"

An amply-built woman in tight clothing stepped forward. Heavy makeup gave her a tough, worldly appearance. "What do we look like—an employment agency?" Her shrewd eyes raked them over. "Go on, get out of here!"

Relieved, Lauren started to turn away. She wanted no part of those reprobates and their dilapidated ship. Then she caught a glimpse of Starfleet uniforms by the terminal, and she changed her mind. As Grandma Stemple used to say, _Beggars can't be choosers._

"We have useful skills," she blurted. "I'm a doctor, and the Vulcan knows his way around computers—blindfolded."

She felt Spock's glance and did not return it.

The woman studied them coldly. "Do you have anything of value?"

Inconspicuously Lauren slipped off her gold wedding band and pocketed it.

"Only our experience," Spock answered. "But if you have no use for us, we will go elsewhere." And he started walking to another ship.

"Wait," the woman called out. She waved them toward the gangplank. "The captain is inside. Come with me."

The hairs prickled on Lauren's body as she followed Spock through the hatchway, into a claustrophobic corridor. She felt as if they were walking into a snake pit. They came to a tiny cabin where an aging, obese man sat before a barely functioning computer screen. As their escort explained their situation to the captain, he turned from his work to look at them.

Lauren heard Spock draw in his breath sharply, but the captain paid no attention to him. He was singling her out for a slow, decidedly lecherous inspection, all the while twisting his flamboyant moustache. When at last his eyes found Spock, they widened with surprise and recognition. Then the captain erupted with boisterous laughter.

oooo

The Stella speeded through space as Spock finished the preliminary adjustments on the ship's computer core and replaced the battered access panel. Wiping his hands on a less-than-clean rag, he surveyed his work. It was remarkable that the old computer functioned at all in this filthy environment, but despite Spock's advice, the captain of the rogue trading vessel showed no sign of improving his slovenly habits.

Harcourt Fenton Mudd had certainly come down in society—but no more so than Spock himself. Murderer, escaped convict, and now a common car thief. Spock sighed at the thought, and turning to leave, found Harry Mudd standing at the hatchway.

"Ah, Sarkos," the portly con-man addressed him with a conspiratorial wink. "Nice choice of name. I must remember to compliment your lovely wife on those forged I.D.'s. Couldn't have procured better, myself." Mudd's fleshy grin faded as he eyed the closed access panel. "I thought you were attending to the computer."

"Yes," Spock said, "I was. But my work in this area is finished for today. Tomorrow I'll re-run the system checks and address any further problems in order of importance."

Mudd frowned. "Tomorrow, old boy? Why not now? There's no such thing as an _unimportant_ problem. Not when it comes to computers."

Spock met the human's calculating eyes, not caring at all for the duplicity he found there. He had no illusions as to why he and Lauren were offered refuge aboard the Stella. It had far more to do with Mudd's weakness for the female form than any need for computer maintenance or medical aid.

"Tomorrow," Spock repeated, and excused himself.

After washing in the ship's single decrepit lavatory, he proceeded to the engine maintenance crawlway that served as sleeping quarters for Lauren and himself. She was not there, but a disturbing scent of men's cologne hung in the warm air. _Old Spice. Old indeed—a veritable classic that Mudd favored._

His warning about Harry Mudd's nature had not been well-received by Lauren. Even so, Spock's first instinct was to go looking for her, but he had only to feel along their bond to know that she was not in any distress.

He peeled off the baggy overalls lent to him by Mudd, leaving only the jeans and flannel shirt he was been wearing when they escaped Walker's World. The engine's vibration rumbled around him as he lay down on a sleeping pad and gave himself over to thought. Starfleet was closing in on them. They had been forced to flee with nothing more than the clothes on their backs and the scant contents of their pockets. They could no longer afford to move slowly and subtly. For Lauren's sake, he had decided to continue searching for T'Naisa Brandt. If their suspicions regarding the young woman proved correct, and she had framed him, it could be used as a defense for Lauren's actions. A jury would likely understand a wife's desire to free an innocent, disabled husband from an abusive prison system.

Spock was considering various plans of action when the hatch swung open and Lauren entered, utterly ignoring him. He sat up and studied the stiff set of her face as she sank down near a conduit. All at once, the crawlway seemed intolerably cramped.

He asked, "Were you with Mudd?"

Her eyes focused on the closed hatch. Her fingers toyed at the base of her third finger, where her wedding ring was conspicuously absent. "Where I go is my concern—just as you consider certain matters to be _your_ sole concern."

Spock experienced a painful welling of frustration. "Lauren, please…"

Lifting her head, she looked at him, eyes burning with resentment. "Isn't that the way you want it? You, with your precious Vulcan privacy…and me with my foolish emotional ways?"

Her words rankled beyond all reason. He knew that she expected an apology, but his comment by the marsh—though admittedly heated—was entirely factual. She _had_ behaved foolishly when she threw away their only weapon. She had erred and did not wish to admit it. As for Ronaldi, Spock had already confessed to his murder. Was that not enough for her? Must she know every unsavory detail?

It came as a relief when the dinner hour arrived and they joined the small crew in the mess cabin. Here there were also tensions, but of a sort that Spock found easier to manage. The corpulent Mudd claimed the head of the table, his eyes ever-wandering toward Lauren, who sat icily at Spock's side. To Mudd's right was the female pilot who had first brought them aboard—the captain's woman, judging by her jealous reaction to Mudd's blatant ogling. Directly across from Spock, the youthful navigator/engineer ate steadily, pausing now and then to ask some question of "Sarkos". Spock fielded the questions carefully. He suspected that the other crewmembers knew his true identity and, like Mudd, would have used the knowledge to their advantage if not for the fact that Spock could easily "turn table" and report the trader's illegal activities. Theirs was an uneasy relationship and Spock looked forward to terminating it at the earliest possible moment.

Halfway through the meal, Mudd began preening his thick, curling moustache and looked Spock's way. "Sarkos, old boy, you've never commented on the name I chose for this ship. Aren't you the least bit curious about it?"

"In fact I am," Spock conceded. "Your first wife was named Stella, but as I recall, you were not particularly fond of her."

Mudd gave a roguish smile. "Precisely, laddie buck. Don't you see? This ship is old and ugly, just like her—and I get a great deal of satisfaction from making it do exactly as I please!" He roared with laughter and the crew joined in.

At the finish of the meal, Mudd asked Spock to remain behind for a private discussion. Spock met Lauren's eyes as she rose to leave and was surprised at the degree of apprehension he found there. Was she actually concerned about his welfare? Or merely her own?

The hatch closed.

Mudd reached into a cabinet behind him and drew out a bottle of Romulan ale. He drank straight from the container. Wiping a beefy hand across his mouth, he held the bottle by its neck and leaned back in his chair. "Spock, my friend, have you ever heard of the proverbial woodshed?"

Spock searched his memory. "The reference is not familiar to me."

"Oh, it was a fine old Earth tradition—a place apart from the house where naughty boys were taken to receive the business end of a strap." He made a broad gesture that encompassed the entire room. "For all practical purposes, this is my woodshed…and you are the boy in need of a whipping."

Spock's eyebrow climbed.

"I'm deeply disappointed in you," Mudd lamented. "Here I am, putting myself at risk to help you in your hour of need. Why, I've given you the very clothes off my back, and you can't even offer me a decent day's work in return." He shook his head and clucked in disapproval. "Tell me, Spock lad, why is that? I was given to understand that Vulcans are as tireless as androids. Now, have you turned into a slacker or is there something seriously wrong with you? I couldn't help but notice that unfortunate limp of yours…"

"Yes," Spock said dryly, "I daresay you have. I assure you, however, that I am quite well enough to accomplish the work we agreed upon."

Mudd's fingers twisted at his moustache. "So you say—and who am I to impugn the word of a Vulcan criminal? But I somehow expected more when I brought you and your…female companion aboard."

"She is my wife," Spock said.

"Yes. Of course. Two mouths to feed. Two bodies draining the environmental system. Granted, it's rather nice having a doctor at hand, but as for you…" Eyes glittering, he shifted in his seat. "You put in even less hours than an able-bodied human."

The claim was preposterous. Spock worked as much as any other crew member. If Mudd wanted him to work longer hours, there could only be one reason—to give Mudd more opportunity to seek Lauren's company.

When it became clear that Spock had no intention of cooperating, Mudd gathered his bulk into a semblance of command. "My boy, I'm through trying to be nice. I want those system checks run tonight. No—let me reword that. I want them done _now!"_

Spock remained seated. "I shall carry out the procedure tomorrow…unless, of course, you can provide some logical reason for me to alter my schedule."

 _"_ _Your_ schedule!" Mudd's pasty skin flushed red with outrage. "I'd say you're mighty uppity, considering your position. _I'm_ the captain of this vessel—not you! Now either get your arrogant ass to the computer or I'll drop you off at the nearest port of call—which, if I'm not mistaken, is a Starfleet base."

Unperturbed, Spock rose to his feet. "That is an idle threat, Mudd, for I would waste no time implicating you and your illicit operation. Now, if you will excuse me…" As he headed for the hatchway, he heard sounds of activity behind his back.

 _"_ _Stop…right…there,"_ Mudd ordered in a menacing tone.

Spock complied. Turning around slowly, he found Mudd standing with an underworld stun gun in hand. The weapon—of a type known to discharge prematurely—was aimed squarely at Spock's chest.

Secure in his power, Mudd smiled. "Is this logical enough for you?"

Spock looked at the pudgy finger on the gun's trigger and said, "I begin to see the logic of your argument."

With his free hand, Mudd lifted the bottle of ale to his lips and took a swallow. Setting it down, he said, "I don't know why, but I have a rather hard time trusting you. How do I know that you don't have some hidden agenda of your own? I mean, you tried to _kill_ the last captain you served under." His jowls shook as he turned his head from side to side. "Poor old Jim Kirk, he deserved better—despite all the trouble he caused me, a time or two."

Spock knew it was useless to protest his innocence regarding Kirk. The verdicts of Starfleet courts were rarely questioned, and someone with Mudd's criminal record would be all too ready to believe the worst.

"Your reputation is shot all to hell. You may say that you're going to tend to business, but what's to keep you from doing a little creative programming of your own?"

"My word," Spock answered, "as a Vulcan."

Mudd chuckled. "I don't know if I buy into that, old friend—but I do find you and your predicament amusing. So this is the deal. You go on and get to work, but if that computer develops so much as a nervous twitch, I will no longer be amused. Got it?"

"Got it," Spock replied.

Mudd waved him off. "Then, scoot! Scram! Hop to it!"

oooo

Lauren sat cross-legged on her sleeping pad as she ran a comb through her wavy, dyed hair. She could not quite shake the uneasy feeling that came over her when Mudd asked Spock to stay behind. Though earlier she would not have admitted it, the captain made her skin crawl. She would be glad when Spock returned. In fact, she would be so glad that she intended to try, one more time, to settle the trouble between them.

She heard the hatch opening and looked up, expecting to find her husband. The smile of welcome died on her lips as Mudd's balding head poked through the opening.

With a leer he flippantly asked, "Is the doctor in?"

Even fully clothed, Lauren had an urge to pull a blanket up to her neck. Mudd's eyes always seemed to undress her. No proper captain would barge into private quarters, even if it was only a grimy maintenance area.

She tried to assume a pleasant expression. "Yes, Captain. Can I help you?"

Mudd squeezed his rotund body inside. "Well, yes," he said in a confidential tone, "as a matter of fact, I have this rash, you see…"

Lauren glanced over his exposed skin and saw no abnormalities.

He began to squirm and scratch at himself. "There's so little room here. Why don't you come into my cabin and take a look?"

It was the last thing she wanted to do, but how could she refuse? In coming aboard she had agreed to provide medical services for the crew. Reluctantly she got up, and mentally reviewing Starfleet defensive techniques, followed Mudd to his quarters.

oooo

From his maintenance board, Spock linked into the ship's security system and temporarily disabled the interior door locks. Strictly speaking, the action could not be referred to as "creative programming", since the door lock program was already in the computer.

Leaving the area, he cautiously made his way to the engine crawlway that he shared with Lauren. The hatch stood ajar. She was not inside, and once more he detected a faint but telling odor of Old Spice. He closed his eyes and was seeking Lauren through their bond when an unpleasant tsunami of emotions carried to him. Fear, anger, and revulsion lanced at the wounded places within him, laying open the fresh prison memories. He knew what it was like to be overpowered and brutalized. And this was happening to a woman—to his own bondmate. Throwing all caution aside, he withdrew and bolted down the narrow corridor. His awkward, limping gait brought him to the door of Mudd's cabin. From inside came sounds of an intense struggle. He wasted no time triggering the door open.

A bed was in clear view. Mudd lay upon it, wrestling Lauren as his crushing weight pinned her to the mattress. Hearing the door, Mudd swung around and saw Spock. His startled face bloodied, his clothes in disarray, he attempted to quickly unhand her, but Spock was quicker. Seizing the big human, Spock dragged him off Lauren and slammed him against the nearest bulkhead.

Beads of perspiration dotted Mudd's fleshy face. "I…I know this looks bad," he babbled, "but…but you see it's not really my fault. I have a _condition._ The doctors have a _name_ for it!"

Though the effort had cost Spock dearly, his grip on Mudd held. "The only name that springs to mind is not fit for my wife to hear."

Lauren rose from the bunk, disheveled but unharmed.

Mudd began to quake like a frightened child. "You're right, you're right. I'm a worthless specimen of humankind. Lucky thing you're a Vulcan, Spock old buddy, who believes in _peace_ and _nonviolence."_

Speaking through his teeth, Spock said, "I am not your buddy, and I am only half Vulcan."

"Oh, please don't hurt me," Mudd sniveled. "I have a very low tolerance for pain."

Disgusted, Spock released him.

Mudd's eyes widened in amazement as he rubbed at his chafed folds of fat. "You're letting me go, then? That _is_ very sensible of you. But we _are_ both men, aren't we? Sometimes these things just _happen_ …"

At that, Lauren marched over to Spock's side and slapped Mudd hard across the face. Then once again. It did not really surprise Spock; he had experience with her temper, and in this case the ire was justified. Quite seriously he asked her, "Do you want _me_ to strike him, too?"

She had removed her colored lenses and in the natural blue of her eyes, he saw—of all things—a mild amusement.

"Now, now," Mudd quickly said, "that's quite enough. Let's be civilized. No need to get physical. No need to press charges, either."

At the mention of charges, Spock saw an opportunity. "A criminal complaint _should_ be filed…but we may be willing to overlook this matter if you put your ship and crew at our disposal for a time."

Mudd's mouth fell open. "Why you larcenous—! You're stealing my ship?"

"I am commandeering it," Spock corrected. "A week should suffice."

Glowering, Mudd wiped at a scratch on his face. "You're only bluffing. Turn me in? You're fugitives from the law—you'd both be arrested, too."

"Yes, we would." Knowing that he did not have the strength to back it up, Spock projected a menacing image. "But first I would give you ample cause to regret that necessity."

Mudd paled and threw up his hands. "Wait! No need to get unpleasant. The fact is, I'm not feeling at all well. A bit of a rest might be just the thing."

oooo

Under Spock's watchful gaze, Mudd meekly assembled the little crew and announced the unfortunate illness that necessitated Spock's temporary rise to command.

"It all began with a rash," Mudd said, fidgeting. "There's no reason for anyone to feel resentful about his. After all, it's only for a brief time. Sp…I mean Sarkos and I go back a long way, and I assure you, he's well versed in the workings of spaceships."

Looking very sickly indeed, Mudd took to his cabin.

Spock's first act as captain was to confiscate all weapons. A friendly crew had no need of them, he assured the grumbling smugglers. And they were, first and foremost, a friendly crew.

Then, with Lauren at his side, Spock accessed the computer and fed it commands that would safeguard their new heading and ensure that no communications could be sent off without his or her direct supervision.

The hour was growing late. Spock locked Mudd's door for the night, then retreated with Lauren to their own makeshift quarters. Securing the hatchway, he turned to her. The fastenings on her shirt had been torn by Mudd's hands. When she let go, the soft fabric gapped apart.

Spock's jaw tightened at the bruises that were revealed. Reaching out with paired fingers, he traced a discoloration on her left cheekbone. Her eyes drew him—this exquisite femininity; this mysterious, aggravating, stimulating woman who through bonding belonged to him alone. He did not want any other man touching her.

Lauren captured his hand and pressed it to her mouth.

"I love you," she whispered. "I _want_ you."

For once he did not even stop to think. Gathering her into his arms, he kissed her, and she welcomed the attention wholeheartedly. They retired to a sleeping pad. From there, matters should have easily proceeded along their natural course—a light mingling of thoughts, a pleasurable joining, then relaxation. In prison he had sometimes dreamt of this, and just now he would have gladly shared even some of his prison memories. But no. That was not the difficulty, this time. As Spock become increasingly aware of the problem at hand, he drew back, shattering the sense of intimacy.

Lauren stared at him, eyes glistening with tears. "What is it? What's wrong?"

Wordlessly he sat up and reached for his clothes. Lauren grabbed for his hand, but he pulled away and began to dress quickly. Her soft, wounded voice tore at him. " _Why?_ Why are you doing this to us?"

Without looking at her, he said, "Never doubt that you are mine."

"Then why won't you make love to me?" she demanded.

Spock's throat tightened from an embarrassment that defied all logic. "Because," he admitted, "I cannot."

Rising abruptly, he took his shoes and headed out into the ship.

oooo

It had taken Lauren a moment to realize that—as always—Spock meant his statement in a very literal sense. Then came a rush of relief. The problem was only physical. Stress alone could cause it, and she did not need a medscanner to confirm the neurological weakness that was steadily creeping over his body. They were frighteningly low on his medication. He needed proper medical treatment, and fast.

All this she told herself as the little ship sped on its course toward the deep space research station where T'Naisa Brandt had spent the early years of her life. On the morning they were to arrive, she lingered at the dining table and placed the final remaining dose of neuroplex into her husband's hand.

"This is the last of it," she said. "We have to find some way of getting more."

Spock gave a nod, then swallowed the precious capsule using some of the bland, replicated juice left over from breakfast. He looked bone-tired. It had been another lonely night in the crawlway, with him out roaming the ship.

"Please look at me," she said.

Spock rose from his chair. His eyes met hers with a curiously pained, yet distant expression. "I must get to the bridge. Mudd's crew can only be trusted so far."

"You've been watching them day and night," Lauren remarked, as if that were the only reason he had absented himself from their bed area. "Go lie down for a while. I'll call you when we get near the station."

Predictably, he shook his head. "No. I am alright."

There had been a time aboard the Enterprise when she could have ordered him to rest. But though she was a doctor, she no longer held that kind of authority over him.

"Spock…" she began, and faltered. There were words that she wanted badly to say, but they might do more harm than good, at this point. Finally she said, "Do you really expect to find T'Naisa at the space station?"

The question was impersonal, and Spock visibly relaxed. "She is not likely to be there, but we should find her father."

"And a Starfleet security squad."

"That, too, is possible," he conceded, "but Vanguard 2 is a privately funded station. I don't think they would take kindly to Starfleet forces loitering around, attempting to entrap their engineer's daughter. By now I imagine Starfleet has come, asked their questions, and departed."

"What makes you think T'Naisa's father will talk to us?"

"He might not—but I think it is, as you would say, 'worth a try'."

Shortly before noon they arrived at the space station and contacted Jarod Brandt directly. Posing as a pair of research scientists, they downloaded false identifications and received permission from Vanguard's engineer to beam over.

The spotless interior of the science station was in sharp contrast to Mudd's dingy, decrepit vessel. Lauren felt conspicuous. They were really beginning to look the part of poverty-stricken fugitives—their hair in need of trims, their clothes worn and mended, and shoes scuffed beyond repair. She expected at any moment to be set upon and arrested, yet the red-haired Brandt—a seemingly gracious man—acted as if nothing were amiss as he escorted them to his office.

Brandt's manner abruptly changed when the door closed. "Alright, you two can drop the act now," he said hotly. "I know exactly who you are. Those faces of yours have been all over the news net for weeks. What the hell's going on? Starfleet's been crawling over this place like tribbles on triticale. And what could _you_ possibly have to do with my daughter…" He turned the full force of his anger on Spock. "Aside from the shoddy way you kicked her out of Starfleet Academy."

Spock drew himself up. "Sir, T'Naisa's behavior caused her expulsion."

Brandt's eyes blazed. "That's not the story she tells!"

"I am not surprised," Spock said dryly. "Part of the reason for her dismissal was a lack of honesty. Though I gave her every opportunity to redeem herself, she found it increasingly impossible to abide by the Cadet's Code of Honor."

 _"_ _Honor!"_ Brandt said with deep sarcasm. "Tell me, is your wife here aware of the disgusting little proposition you made to T'Naisa when you expelled her? Does she know you offered reinstatement in exchange for sexual favors?"

Lauren felt her face go red. "That's not how it happened. If T'Naisa had a valid complaint, why didn't she bring charges against Spock? Memory scans would have shown the truth. No sir, I'm afraid that your daughter is the one who made the proposition. When Spock refused her advances, she began a calculated program of harassment that landed her in a criminal psychiatric unit. Surely you're aware of that—and this time she's done more than skip out on her parole."

Brandt's eyes narrowed. "Such as?"

Spock intervened. "I will explain in due time. But first, a question. When did your daughter begin studying the Vulcan disciplines?"

The engineer was taken aback. "What does that have to do with anything?"

"Then she has," Spock surmised.

"Well, yes," Brandt admitted. "I was surprised by it—after all this time. She's always resisted her mother's efforts to teach her. Then about a year ago she suddenly showed up and asked T'Gara for guidance. T'Gara took her to Vulcan and found her an instructor."

"Interesting," Spock said. "And where is your daughter now?"

Brandt regarded him with suspicion. "Give me one reason why I should tell you—why I shouldn't just turn you people in and be done with it."

Lauren cast Spock an uneasy glance, but his confidence seemed unshaken as he revealed, "Your daughter may have information that will clear me of a criminal charge."

Brandt made a sound of pure disgust. "Which one? It's bad enough what you did to Captain Kirk, but now I hear that you've killed another man. It's people like you who make me think they should bring back the death penalty." His angry words rushed on. "And as for my daughter—do you know what I think? I think it happened just like she said. When she refused to give you what you wanted, you concocted that ridiculous story to save your ass." Reaching behind him, he triggered the door open and stepped aside. "I should never have let you aboard this station. Now get the hell out, and get fast, because I'm going to turn around and send off an alert to Starfleet."

Lauren's heart jumped into her throat. For a moment the two men stood locked in silent confrontation. Then Brandt reached for the intercom. Before his fingers could touch the control, Spock lurched forward and grasped the engineer at the base of his neck. A clumsy move, but Brandt's head swung around in surprise. His eyes widened as if he realized what was happening and could do nothing to prevent it. Then his body sagged and his eyes closed. Spock lowered him to the floor, unconscious.

"Shut the door," he said, and Lauren took care of it.

When she looked back, Spock was leaning over the engineer, his fingertips arranged in a familiar pattern on Brandt's face. She watched him retreat into the detached mental state that preceded a deep meld. His eyes narrowed and grew distant. His lips moved silently, and Lauren thought she saw a word formed.

All at once Spock came out of the meld. Looking utterly spent, he pushed himself to his feet, drew out Mudd's battered communicator, and ordered a beam-up.

Nothing happened.

The beginnings of panic slithered through Lauren's stomach. "What if they took off? What if they just left us?"

"Highly unlikely," Spock said, but she could see the tension in his face and in his hand as it gripped the communicator. "I left the navigational controls securely locked. By now they should realize that they are helpless without us."

He called up to the ship again. Another full minute passed. Then came a faint ringing sound, and with a surge of relief Lauren sensed a stirring of spacial displacement. The transporter beam—however reluctantly—was reaching for them.

oooo

Spock hurried to the bridge, impatient with the delay his limp cost him. As he entered, the crew made way with resentful glances. Settling into the helm chair, he swiftly freed the navigational controls and piloted the ship away from Vanguard, onto a new heading. Then he moved to the computer station and implemented one of several call signature programs he had devised to conceal Stella's true identity. For now, Mudd's ship would have a new name and registry. The trading vessel Commerce sailed through space at an unremarkable warp three.

Spock settled back into the cushioned seat and became aware of Lauren standing behind him. Her hand touched his shoulder, bringing with it a sense of puzzlement.

"Where to?" she asked just above a whisper.

Spock looked at the computer construct of space on the forward viewscreen. There had been little time on Vanguard to weigh the ethical issues surrounding the meld. Now there would be ample opportunity to examine what he had done, as well as what he was about to do. Locking in the new course, he left Mudd's people to oversee the mundane operation of the ship, and took Lauren into the privacy of the crawlway. There he told her his plan.

Her mouth opened in shock. "We're going to Vulcan? No, it's much too dangerous!"

"T'Naisa is there with her mother," he explained, "in the district of K-Mar."

She studied his face. "You saw that? In Brandt's mind?"

"Yes."

She did not argue the morality of intruding on another's mind without permission. Down there, she had known exactly what he was doing. In the short time it took them to beam up, she had already found some way to justify the act. And even as Spock stood before her, he was aware of his own mind seeking to excuse him through various applications of logic. He found himself wondering what brand of self-serving logic Ronaldi had used to sanction _his_ immoral acts in prison…

"Spock." Lauren's brows drew together with worry. "Brandt will have Starfleet swarming."

He drew a slow breath and released it. "He will remember nothing of our visit."

Lauren gazed at him for a long moment. "Forget," she said softly. "That's the word I read on your lips."

"Yes," Spock acknowledged.

Searching deep into his eyes, she touched his face and said, "You'll need your strength on Vulcan. I'll mind the ship. Try and get some rest— _please."_

He nodded and passed her Mudd's stun gun, which she concealed under her clothes. After she left the crawlway, Spock lay down, grateful for the solitude in which to prepare himself. But there was too much on his mind to allow for sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Spock had thought he was ready for Vulcan, but as the reddish planet of his birth loomed up on the viewscreen, he was beset by a painful array of emotions. Vulcan no longer recognized his citizenship. The world that had shaped him no longer acknowledged his existence. His father's decree had banished him for all time to the nameless nether-life of ktorr skann—all rights and privileges stripped away, all properties seized and turned over to his "widow".

"Spock," Lauren said softly from communications.

Except for Mudd, they were alone on the bridge. Spock roused himself. Pushing aside his weariness, he implemented the program that would temporarily render the viewscreen "broken". For a time he concentrated on piloting the small ship into a standard planetary approach. It was becoming harder to make his hands do as he wished, and his vision was no longer perfect.

A calm, measured voice broke from the com board Lauren was manning. "Commerce, this is Vulcan Orbital Control awaiting your response."

Mudd paced the area behind Spock's chair so vigorously that he was creating a draft. "You must be out of your Vulcan mind," the big man blustered. "Do you have any idea what this ship is carrying?"

"The hold is empty," Spock declared, monitoring the controls, "and your sensor buffers disabled."

Mudd froze in his tracks and roared, _"What?"_

"The buffers would only have aroused suspicion," Spock said without looking at him. "The Romulan ale and other controversial substances that comprised your cargo have been jettisoned into space."

Mudd's great hands settled on the back of Spock's chair and spun it around to face him. "Why, you low-life pirating—"

"This is Vulcan Orbital Control," the com repeated. "Please acknowledge."

Spock looked Mudd in the eyes. "Sit down or I will lock you in your cabin. The signature code I chose for this vessel is that of an actual trader that hauls legal goods. If all goes well, I will return your ship to you in a matter of minutes."

Muttering to himself, Mudd backed off.

Spock returned to the console. He signaled for Lauren to open a com channel, then spoke into the directional microphone at his station. "This is the Federation trading vessel Commerce. Ready to download ship's manifest."

A flash on a panel indicated computer contact. Spock watched, counting the seconds as Vulcan assimilated their flight plan, crew roster, and inventory data covering the past six month period as required by Federation law.

A second telltale awakened on the board. Spock met Lauren's anxious gaze and raised an eyebrow. "We are being scanned. Let us hope they do not find it too suspicious that we are currently running without cargo."

"This will never work!" Mudd huffed. "You should have taken your chances and just beamed down. Then I could have skedaddled out of here."

"Hardly advisable," Spock quietly said. The scanning seemed to be taking an inordinately long time. "Unapproved transporter signals are routinely captured by Vulcan's security net and relayed to a detainment center."

"You Vulcans _would_ come up with something like that," Mudd sniffed.

The scanning ceased.

"Data received and verified," Vulcan reported. "We detect a malfunction in your visual comlink. Do you require assistance?"

"Negative," Spock replied. "We have the problem well in hand." There followed a notable lapse in communication during which he expected at any moment to feel the tug of a tractor beam settling over the ship.

Then Orbital Control broke the silence. "Commerce, we require further clarification regarding your purpose here."

Spock released the breath he had been holding. "Two among us request a brief stay in the district of K-Mar in order to negotiate a business arrangement." He downloaded the specifics of the supposed mission, along with a more detailed version of the identities he and Lauren would use for the beam-down.

Seconds crawled by. Lauren lowered her face into her hand. Mudd resumed pacing.

As last the speaker came alive. "Commerce cleared for transport."

Spock sighed with a relief that was not entirely logical, considering the many uncertainties that still lay ahead. And mingled in the relief, there was shame. At Vanguard he violated a mind in order to extract information, and the data he gave Orbital Control was utterly false. He was breaking the law, but even worse than that, he was breaking the strict Vulcan code of morality that he had embraced since childhood.

Lauren jumped out of the communications chair. "Let's get going," she urged, as if fearful that the Vulcans might suddenly withdraw their permission to disembark.

"Yes, by all means—hurry!" Mudd agreed, anxious to be rid of them.

Spock rose and confronted him. "The computer restraints will disengaged in ten minutes. Take you ship, Mudd, and consider yourself fortunate that I did not exact a higher price for assaulting my wife."

Mudd gave an ingratiating smile and spread his hand defensively. "Come now, 'assault' is such a harsh word. I admit that I did get a little carried away—but I assure you, old friend, I wouldn't have dared…uh…" he chuckled nervously "…avail myself of the doctor's womanly charms."

Spock narrowed his eyes, and sidestepping him with remarkable alacrity, Mudd settled his bulk into the pilot's seat.

"Run along now," Mudd crooned. "Have fun, you two…"

oooo

Lauren emerged from the transporter beam onto a hilltop and found Spock standing beside her in the twilight. She felt Vulcan's oppressive heat, felt the slightly higher-than-earth gravity tugging on her body. Taking a deep breath of the thin air, she looked down upon a vast desert. The immensity of the task before them seemed embodied in Vulcan's Forge—austere and deadly, the sky above it tinged in shades of blood. Human red, Klingon purple, Vulcan green.

She turned to find nearby lights shimmering like fallen stars—signs of habitation in the summer haven of Pashir. She was reaching for Spock's hand when he said, "This way," and limped off toward the settlement. They were not outfitted for travel. Coarse red sand rose over their low shoes, sifting down into their worn socks. The sunset colors deepened into violet, and heat waves distorted the first tentative stars.

Already perspiring, Lauren trudged on. Her legs began to ache, and the exertion of the trek made her human lungs feel starved for oxygen. Beside a rise, she pulled up short and bent over, panting. "What…I wouldn't give…for some tri-ox."

Spock lowered himself onto a small boulder and poured the sand out of his shoes. Even he was breathing a bit hard. Fatigue, lack of medication, and Vulcan's gravity were all having their effect on him.

He said, "If I were able, I would carry you. Fortunately it is not much farther to my parents' home." Looking up the rise, he pointed. "Right there, at the very top."

He led her over a steep path, stopping frequently to offer whatever assistance he could. A torrid wind began to buffet them with sand dust, but at last they made it to level ground. Straight ahead, the path snaked to a dark fortress of a house. Although Lauren had never visited his parents' summer retreat, she had seen pictures of it.

"It looks…like you were right," she said, still breathless. "No one's here."

"They never come at this season," he said in with weary certainty.

Lauren knew how much he detested housebreaking on his father's estate and using Sarek's property to further their own lawless aims. Looking hard into his eyes, she said, "We _have_ to do this. Later, when you're vindicated, your father will understand. He'll see that you did the right thing—the _only_ thing."

Spock made no comment. Putting an arm around her—as much to steady himself, she suspected, as to steady her—they walked the final leg of the path. They passed through a sheltered sand garden and came to an entrance recessed deep in a black stone wall. Lauren waited in vain for him to enter. Finally she reached out and worked the latch herself. Unhindered by locks, the door swung open.

oooo

Spock jolted out of a deep, much-needed sleep. Even before his eyes opened, his mind had registered the subtle nuances of atmosphere and gravity that told him he was on Vulcan.

Then he remembered why.

Rising partway up, he saw that the bedroom door was wide open. Someone stood on the threshold, a blurred figure softly backlit by the hall light. Lauren stirred beside him, took one look, and sucked in her breath.

The figure at the door moved. A light came on.

Spock blinked and forced his vision to clear. An elderly human female ventured one step into the bedroom and stared back at him.

"Mother!" he exclaimed.

"Spock?" Amanda said, as if pronouncing the forbidden name aloud would help her believe it was really him. Then, "Lauren!"

Lauren sat up in one of Amanda's nightgowns while Spock attempted to compose himself. He had quite literally been caught dead-to-rights. What was there to say? Yet speak he must.

"Mother, I beg your pardon. We thought the house was unoccupied." As if that gave him leave to enter it, to even set foot on Vulcan after the elders had exiled him. Then a terrible thought took hold. "Sarek. Is he here, as well?"

Her face set in determined lines, and as she shook her head "no", Spock felt every muscle in his body relax. Amanda said, "I thought you were intruders. But here—on Vulcan? I couldn't imagine such a thing."

Spock grimly nodded. "We are indeed intruders."

Lauren touched his hand and said, "Amanda, give us a moment. We'll come out and explain everything."

Amanda's eyes lingered on them as she turned and closed the door.

With rioting emotions, Spock lay back and stared at the ceiling of his childhood bedroom. He did not want to face his mother. What explanation could he give her for what he had done? Of course, she would try to understand him—she always had. But she did not, could not, fully understand the relentless Vulcan standards by which he—like his father—so often judged himself. And now since Ronaldi's death, he was in actuality a murderer. That, even a human mother would condemn.

Lauren dressed in silence, then leaned over him, her forehead creased with worry. "Spock…why don't you stay here? I'll talk to her."

"No." Pushing the covers aside, he concentrated on getting himself out of bed. Climbing the path had all but finished his legs. It was not so much pain, as a creeping numbness and lack of muscular response that was even starting to affect his arms. Had he come this far only to find that he could not continue?

Lauren fetched a robe from his father's closet, and he was forced to lean on her as they walked the short distance to the living room. There was no way to conceal his condition. Amanda rose in shock as he labored along beside his wife and sank down, all but exhausted, on a sofa.

"You're sick!" Mother said.

"I am alright," Spock assured her.

"No, he isn't," Lauren declared. Still standing, she offered a passionate plea to her mother-in-law. "Amanda, this is what prison has done to him. This is why I had to get him out of there. My God, if you'd seen what that place was like…"

Spock sighed. "Lauren, I am sure Mother finds that most touching, but it does not excuse my defying the edict and coming here."

Amanda's eyes ignited with a stern look that her son knew well. "Spock. Whatever brought you to Pashir, I'm glad of it. Obviously you thought I wouldn't be here. In fact, I have the distinct impression that you weren't even going to get hold of me."

Spock looked aside.

"Spock," she repeated.

He had no choice but to answer her. "Mother, I am a fugitive—and unfortunately, so is Lauren. Knowing that we are here puts you in a very difficult position. I had hoped to spare you—and Sarek—that."

"Sarek!" Her voice took on a brittle edge. "Your father acted to spare his own pride, and it's unconscionable."

Spock faced her. "Mother," he said carefully, "Sarek was only following the dictates of Vulcan custom. He acted logically."

Bright patches of color appeared on Amanda's cheeks. "Custom! Logic! You sound just like your father!"

"I am guilty of murder," Spock reminded her. "In prison, there was a man…"

"If you killed him you had good reason! But even before that, Sarek petitioned the elders to disown you—his own son—his own flesh and blood—and now he pretends as if you never even existed." She paused to draw in a shaky breath. "I never felt right when he did it to Sybok, but I told myself I wasn't Sybok's mother. I told myself it was the Vulcan way. Now I wonder if I should have done more."

Lauren put her hand on Amanda's frail shoulder. "We're going to clear Spock's name," she recklessly promised. "We're going to straighten things out—not only between him and his father, but with Starfleet and Vulcan, too."

"Lauren," Spock cautioned, "we are operating only on a theory…and there is also the matter of Ronaldi."

Amanda glanced from Lauren, back to Spock. "Ronaldi. He's the one…the one who died?"

Lauren spoke up. "Ronaldi tried to murder him—Spock's told me that much. I'd say it was self-defense, clear and simple."

Spock looked fondly but sadly upon his wife and his mother. "You are both very generous…and most unrealistic. Juries look only at facts."

oooo

Lauren awoke to the keening of a desert bird. As Spock slept on, she padded quietly to the deep-set window and saw silvery wings riding the morning thermals above Vulcan's Forge. It was summer in this hemisphere. Soon the rising orb of Epsilon Eridani would drive outdoor temperatures well beyond the limits of human endurance.

Careful not to disturb Spock, she readied herself for the day, then went out in search of her mother-in-law. She found Amanda seated outdoors on a shaded terrace that gave a magnificent view of the Forge.

Amanda smiled and indicated a frosty pitcher on a table beside her. "Come join me. I made iced coffee."

Gladly drawing up a chair, Lauren poured herself a glassful. It tasted delicious.

"I seldom drink coffee anymore," Amanda said, "but today…today I needed something very human." Her gaze took in the red alien sky and desolate landscape. "I find this whole situation appalling. Spock looks as if he's been run into the ground."

"He's exhausted," Lauren solemnly agreed. "This is the first decent sleep he's had in…well, I don't remember how long. And I'll be honest with you, Amanda…" Her throat tightened. "Unless he gets the right kind of medical care, and soon, he's going to lose the use of his legs…and maybe even his sight, too."

Amanda's eyes widened in distress. "I'll send for my healer."

"A Vulcan? Amanda, I know Vulcans can be discreet, but in this situation? Spock is an outcast, and here we are—humans, outworlders—sheltering him from Vulcan and Federation law."

Amanda rubbed the bridge of her nose tiredly, then looked at her. "Of course you're right; we can't rely on any Vulcan. But you're a physician. If I can get you the tools you need, and the medicine…"

Lauren took a sip of her iced coffee, and considered. The right tools, the right medication. Those would still require authorization from a local doctor. She felt a hot breeze stir her hair, and with it came a memory. A parched, dusty town far away in the equatorial mountains. And at its remote clinic, a man.

Fresh hope surged in her heart. Setting down her glass, she said, "I think I know just the person who can help us."

oooo

"Doctor Van Allen." Lauren offered a restrained greeting to her former acquaintance. They stood together in Amanda's sand garden where the British-born physician had just materialized. His clothing looked slightly rumpled, his hair finger-combed, as if he had beamed over in a hurry.

Van Allen's boyish blue eyes sparkled at her above a cockeyed, affable grin. "So it's brown hair now! Oh well—whatever the color, a delight as always. But my name is Travis, remember?" He held out his hand.

Unmoving, Lauren looked at it, and her right palm tingled as if it had only now lashed across Van Allen's irrepressible face. Dealing with Travis was going to be just as awkward as she had anticipated. Clasping her hands behind her back, she stepped onto the terrace. "Yes, I remember—every bit of it."

Van Allen raised his rejected hand and rubbed it over his tanned cheek. He eyed Lauren with wry humor as he followed her into the shade. "You know, you never gave me a decent chance to apologize. I'm not usually such a cad. I thought you _wanted_ me to kiss you."

Her face, already rosy from the heat, went downright red from embarrassment. It had been almost four years since a side-effect of Spock's pon farr made the doctor's advances so tempting to her. But since she had never knowingly encouraged him, she refused the guilt that his words implied.

She said, "I was married and you knew it."

Van Allen shrugged and spread his fingers. "There are marriages…and then there are _marriages."_

It was something that the philandering Mudd might have said, yet Lauren met his dancing eyes and resisted an urge to smile. It was impossible to dislike _this_ man. "Travis, you're a scoundrel."

"And you're a fugitive," he countered with a lazy smile. "Armed and dangerous, they say. Fits you to a T."

She sighed. "How can anyone live on Vulcan as long as you have, and still be so…so incorrigibly human?"

Van Allen assumed a courtly Vulcan manner and inclined his head. "Madam, you honor me." Then clicking his heels together, he snapped her a cocky salute. "Take me to your leader, your wish is my command, and all that rot."

There was the sound of a door opening, and down on a lower level Amanda came out to tend a flowering plant growing in a large pot.

Van Allen gaped at Spock's mother in a parody of amazement. "My word—another vision of human loveliness! Is this paradise? I believe I've died and gone to heaven!"

Lauren frowned at him. "Feel the temperature? This isn't heaven, Travis." Grabbing him by the arm, she propelled him inside and gave him a good talking-to. "Mind your manners, will you? Have you any idea who that lady is?"

"Well, of course." Rubbing at his arm, he drew himself up. "That's Ambassador Sarek's wife, and your husband is the ambassador's son—or at least he _used_ to be…"

A deep, icy voice cut in. "Quite correct, Doctor."

Van Allen turned, the last of his smile fading. Looking downright pallid, he watched Spock's slow, difficult rise from a corner desk. "Oh lord…" he mumbled.

Spock stood beside the chair, one hand gripping it for support. Upon his "death", most of his belongings had been shipped to Lauren, but Amanda had managed to save the items kept here for his use at Pashir. Dressed in shades of ochre and sienna, he looked every inch the Vulcan—more Vulcan, Lauren suspected, than Travis had expected to find in a half human who had taken a human wife.

Recovering somewhat, Van Allen said, "I meant no offense, sir—truly."

Spock nodded in silent acknowledgement, but his manner let it be known that the doctor had better be on his best behavior.

They adjourned to the bedroom, where Van Allen thoroughly examined Spock. Then wordlessly he offered Lauren his medscanner and watched, arms folded, as she ran a diagnostic study for herself. The readings made her stomach go leaden. Neurological function had dropped off so dramatically that even Spock's autonomic system was weakening. It was a wonder that he was able to walk at all—or see anything more than a blur.

Struggling to hold in her emotions, she told Van Allen, "You see the situation we're in here. He needs medication now. He needs a neuro-stimulator."

Van Allen met the desperate plea in Lauren's eyes and promised, "You'll have them."

oooo

There were few physical maladies that a Vulcan could not remedy with a healing trance, but this was one of them. Intellectually, Spock understood the processes that required him to be locked under the humming neuro-stimulator, but he found it particularly frustrating at this juncture to be betrayed by his body's weakness. There was very little to do but lie in his bedclothes and rest his eyes and think. Every four hours, Lauren replenished the intravenous solution that was delivering powerful doses of neuroplex and neoprednisone into his bloodstream. When she was not caring for his medical needs, he instructed her in the clandestine inquiries that needed to be made from his parents' computer terminal. At midday she pinpointed the Golheni stronghold where T'Naisa was staying with her mother.

They had come so close. Even if Doctor Van Allen could be trusted, he had left a trail which might draw the authorities' notice. Lauren's computer activity would also be suspect. Each moment of delay increased the likelihood that they would be apprehended, and his mother implicated for harboring fugitives. Yet Amanda refused to leave them.

In the tedious hours of late afternoon, Spock abruptly rid himself of the I.V. cuff and pushed aside the neuro-stimulator hood. An alarm went off. Alerted, Lauren rushed in to find him on unsteady feet, heading for his clothes.

"What are you doing? Lie back down!" she demanded.

Spock held his ground. "Lauren, there is no time for this. We must go after T'Naisa now."

Lauren switched off the alarm, but it was too late. The commotion had drawn the attention of Spock's mother. She arrived at the open bedroom door and looked on as he told his wife, "The Starfleet investigators are sure to be watching. If either they or T'Naisa suspect our presence, we will have lost our advantage." With a fleeting glance in his mother's direction, he added, "And need I remind you that Sarek could arrive here at any moment?"

"He won't," Amanda said.

Spock was startled by the certainty in her voice, and turned toward her hazy image.

"Have no fear of that," Amanda went on. "Your father knows I came here to be alone. His pride will not allow him to follow me."

Spock's eyebrow rose as he took in the implication of her words. "You have…left him?"

Amanda loosed a deep sigh. "I couldn't bear to be in the same house with Sarek after what he did to you."

Spock felt his legs giving way and sank into a nearby chair. This was hardly the first time that his parents had argued over him, but physical separation was something new. It gave him an uneasy feeling, as if the very foundation of his existence had been shaken akilter.

Lauren approached him, offering her paired fingers in the manner of Vulcan couples. It took him a moment to return the touch, but as it laid open the bond between them, tears formed in her eyes.

"Lie down," she gently urged.

He remained seated, and her fingers moved to grasp his hand fully, like a human. "Spock, listen to me," she said. "The damage caused by the toxin that ravaged your nervous system has never been fully repaired—you know that as well as I do. These past months of hit-or-miss treatment have really set you back. I'm trying my best here, but unfortunately a damaged nerve can only be regenerated so many times. Unless you take care of yourself, there will come a day—perhaps even _today_ —when the tissue disintegrates beyond repair. At that point the nerves will die—for always. There'll be no bringing them back."

Spock tried to focus on her eyes.

She gave his hand a squeeze and said, "T'Naisa will wait. Your body won't. If you leave now, you may never walk again. If you leave now, you could go blind."

Spock turned his head and caught a glimpse of crimson sky through the window. It faded to a blur.

"Spock, listen to her," his mother pleaded from the doorway.

He saw no other choice. Yielding to the bitter logic of necessity, he returned to bed and permitted Lauren to do the work for which she was trained. One by one the machines clamped over him, and the neuro-stimulator began to thrum. _Patience,_ he reminded himself, _is also a Vulcan way of life._ Perhaps there was, after all, no need for hurry. As Eridani flamed a slow path along the wall, he found there was more than ever for him to ponder.

oooo

Lauren was relieved by how well Spock's nervous system had responded to the first day of intensive medical care. Now, if only she could convince him to spend another couple of days in treatment. Switching off the machines, she wheeled them aside for the night. Then she turned out the lights and joined her husband in bed. T'Khut's pocked, glowing face peeked through the window. Somewhere a LeMatya screamed. The hellcat sound sent a shiver up her spine; reflexively she scooted closer and clung to Spock.

"It cannot claw its way through stone walls," he said with a dry hint of amusement.

"Don't make fun of me," she said. "I seem to remember a certain bear at Yosemite that had _you_ worried."

He raised his head off the pillow and looked at her. "It would not have," he sensibly pointed out, "had we been behind walls even half as thick as these."

For a time they lay together in silence, and Lauren found herself wishing she were telepathic like Spock. It was all too easy for him to hide his thoughts from her—and tonight, like so many nights since his escape from prison, she felt as if he were lights years away.

"You're very quiet," she said at last. "I shouldn't have spoken so bluntly about your condition—not in front of your mother. Did it offend you?"

His reply was slow in coming. "One should never be offended by the truth…however it is revealed. No, aisha. If I seem silent, it is because I have been thinking about the bond my parents share…and about ours."

Lauren glanced up at the dim outline of his profile. His use of the Vulcan endearment was reassuring. Suddenly, he did not seem so far away. She seemed to feel his affection for her radiating from him as naturally as the steady heat of his body. But she could also sense pain—managed and mastered, but hardly less sharp than when they had touched fingers this afternoon. It was a pain that she understood, for her own parents had suffered marital difficulties and divorced when she was only twelve. And it made her think of her own troubles with Spock…

Perhaps he was sensing the course of her thoughts, for he said, "I have not been a very good husband to you."

The words went straight to her heart. Rising up, she gazed at him and confessed, "I haven't always been the best of wives, either. But as long as we can admit it, there's still hope for us."

His eyes glimmered in the darkness. "Perhaps. But consider this. Even under the best of circumstances, even if you are absolved of any crime, I will be returning to prison for a long while."

"Hush," she said, touching a fingertip to his lips.

Capturing her fingers, he gently toyed with them. Lauren lay down again and nestled close, giving herself up to the simple, intimate pleasure.

"You must accept the facts." His hands grew still—the hands, he would tell her, of a murderer. "I think it best…that I release you from our marriage."

She reared up in dismay. On Walker's World, she had been on the verge of leaving him, yet here she was, bleeding at the very thought of divorce. _No! Never! They were one and together…for better or for worse._ Looking down upon the center of her universe, she kissed him, expecting no real return for her passion, but Spock pleasantly surprised her and this time he experienced no difficulty. Their joining brought the first true mental sharing since his escape, and afterward, as they lay entwined, there was no further mention of divorce.

Lauren said with determination, "The truth about that prison has to be told. It's the only way to change things."

"I attempted to tell Admiral Morrow," Spock reminded her. "He was not interested in hearing the truth."

"Well, he'll have to hear it. They'll all hear enough to turn their stomachs when you're brought to trial over Ronaldi."

"Trial?" Spock questioned. "I am clearly guilty, and entering that plea would bring a lighter sentence. I predict they will prefer a plea bargain to adverse publicity."

Lauren felt torn between exposing Luna and shortening Spock's prison time. "Is that really what you want—a plea bargain? What about the other prisoners? And you'd be right back under Cho's thumb!" When Spock failed to reply, for the briefest of moments she actually considered abandoning their pursuit of T'Naisa and fleeing to someplace so remote that Starfleet would never find them. But at the thought of their children in New York, she broke down and began to weep. Spock stroked her hair as the tears flowed.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

"Look at this!" Lauren exclaimed.

Surprised at the tone, Spock glanced up from his bed where he was undergoing a second day of medical treatment. Since last night Lauren had been rather somber, but now she entered the room with a brisk step and a radiant expression which he could see quite clearly. She looked lovely, smiling.

Eyes sparkling with excitement, she came up to the bed and deposited a Padd on his chest. "It was just on the news net—you won't believe it!"

Curious, he picked up the Padd and keyed it on. The recording began midway into a Vulcan news report. A large group of demonstrators—mostly human—were gathered outside the main entrance of Starfleet Headquarters in San Francisco. Many were shouting slogans similar to those on the placards they carried.

"Tell the truth!" "Open Luna!" "Prisoners have rights!"

Spock's eyebrow climbed as he spotted a sign at the rear of the crowd. "Vulcans don't lie!" The sign turned to reveal a similar message. "Vulcans don't murder!"

"It gets even better," Lauren said.

In a carefully modulated tone, the Vulcan commentator spoke of recent news releases that raised questions about Starfleet's lunar-based penitentiary, and the validity of an unnamed officer's conviction. The screen shifted, showing a pale captain seated before a window overlooking San Francisco Bay.

Spock experienced a shock of recognition. "Jim!"

An unseen interviewer was asking James T. Kirk his opinion regarding the turmoil at the Luna Correctional Facility, now spreading to the streets of Earth.

"It's certainly raised questions in my mind," Kirk responded. His jaw tightened visibly. "We in the Federation pride ourselves on how civilized we've become—but lately I've begun to wonder. If mistakes have been made, they need to be acknowledged, they need to be rectified…immediately."

The interview was so brief that Spock suspected it had been edited by the Vulcans, probably to delete some reference to him. Even so, it was gratifying to see Jim at home in his apartment, mentally alert.

The Vulcan newscaster went on to report that on this, the 83rd day of the prison work strike, Starfleet had yielded to increasing public and internal pressures. A team of Special Investigators was being formed to look into the tense situation at Luna, as well as "other pertinent matters".

The recording ended.

Lauren said, "I bet they cut Jim's interview to ribbons."

"Quite likely," Spock agreed, "but even so, it is enough." A lot had happened since the day he sat with Leo Kessler in their cell and first explored the idea of a prison work strike. It pleased him to think that Luna's days might be numbered, that the sadistic rule of Warden Cho and his cronies might soon be coming to an end.

Later that day Lauren permitted a broadcast monitor in the bedroom and together they watched an uncensored Federation release that repeated Kirk's interview in its entirety. Spock was indeed mentioned by name—the name that had been expunged from every Vulcan record and forbidden to every Vulcan tongue.

"Most specifically," Kirk had added, warming to his subject, "I'm referring to Captain Spock, former commandant of Starfleet Academy, unjustly convicted of a crime he didn't commit." Kirk raised his hands and leaned forward. "I am his supposed victim. I'm the man they say he tried to kill. Yet here I am, defending him, because the charge is patently ridiculous—just as ridiculous as this new charge of murder against him!" His hands trembled slightly and he lowered them to his lap. "My hat goes off to his wife—to Doctor Lauren Fielding, for setting Spock free. I'd have done it myself, if I were able."

Lauren perched on the edge of the bed, watching. "Starfleet's going to singe his tail for that—but it's good to see him in fighting trim again, isn't it?"

Spock's half-formed reply died on his lips as an angry-looking young woman appeared on the screen. The newscaster announced, "Cristabeth Lemoine, daughter of the escaped convict Spock, and stepdaughter of the fugitive Lauren Fielding was recently seen making connections with a starliner bound for Vulcan…"

T'Beth was dressed in civilian clothing. A reporter kept putting himself in her path as she attempted to move through the spaceport. "Ms. Lemoine, why are you going to Vulcan?"

"Sorry," she replied curtly. "I'm in a hurry."

"Is your father there?"

Her eyes narrowed. "My father has been exiled from Vulcan."

"Where is he? Do you know?"

"Do you think I'd tell you if I did? Now, if you'll excuse me…" T'Beth shoved her way past the reporter and disappeared from view.

The camera shifted to the young human male who had been questioning her. He shrugged. "Maybe she knows, maybe she doesn't. Obviously, she's not talking. We take you now to Pendama Ro in our central studio on—"

Lauren decided it was time for her patient to rest his eyes, and switched off the monitor. "Now why do you suppose T'Beth is coming here?" she wondered aloud.

Spock could think of only one reason why his daughter might be returning to Vulcan now, after all these years, and it troubled him.

oooo

After a brief pass through Customs, T'Beth headed out of ShanaiKahr's spaceport on foot. Here in the capital it was mid-morning, in the dead of winter, but plenty hot beneath a cloudless red sky. Walking along the manicured streets, she paused to glance over her shoulder. _Was she being followed?_ Alert to her surroundings, she moved on. Five long years she had lived here as a child, yet in all that time she had never become as acclimated as a native—to Vulcan weather, to Vulcan ways. When, at sixteen, she had finally left for Earth, she had promised herself that she would never again set foot on this parched, restrictive world. Yet here she was. Memories of those troubled childhood years dogged her as she made her way toward the government complex.

A hot breeze fanned the perspiration from her determined face, and her mouth felt dry from the lingering queasiness of early pregnancy. She was glad she had dressed lightly. The outfit she had chosen was classic Sy, loose and airy, with a delicate striping that flowed down to her sandals. But the semi-Vulcanoid features she had inherited from her father made it clear to any bystander that she was no ordinary tourist from Sydok.

The government center came into view. It was a gleaming, artistic arrangement of buildings, created out of stone and the thick, opaque glass Vulcans manufactured from the sand that was so plentiful on their planet. The diplomatic offices made liberal use of this glass, a rich shade of scarlet reminiscent of lava.

Mentally preparing herself, T'Beth entered the lobby and found the offices of Vulcan's senior ambassador to the Federation. At a reception desk she announced herself simply as "T'Beth" and stated her intention to see Sarek.

The Vulcan woman eyed her dispassionately before consulting a data feed.

"You will find no appointment," T'Beth told her in the native language.

One Vulcan eyebrow slid upward. "I see. In that case it is quite impossible for—"

Though it was considered unmannerly, T'Beth interrupted impatiently. "Just inform him that I am here. He will see me."

The receptionist considered a moment, then tapped her delicate fingers over a messaging device. T'Beth sat down in a chair and waited. She did not have to wait long.

A door opened, and Sarek himself appeared. Heart racing, she rose and as she met his deep-set eyes, a fearful thought came to her. _What if he knew that I am carrying a child—pregnant from an encounter with the princeling Ap-Pakesh on Sydok? Eventually he_ _would_ _know, eventually everyone would know._ But reminding herself of the meeting's purpose, she pushed that worry aside.

"T'Beth," he spoke in the cultured bass voice that was respected throughout all the Federation.

"Grandfather," she said, inclining her head in the customary token of respect.

He ushered her into his office and closed the door. They had grown closer since her entry into the arena of diplomacy, yet now when she looked at him, she felt her anger rising…and a heartfelt sorrow that it had come down to this. Somehow she must hold her emotions in check. If she hoped to win Sarek over, she must speak calmly, reasonably. There was no other way to influence a Vulcan.

Sarek offered her a chair and refreshment from a dispenser slot in the wall near his desk. She accepted some cold water.

"I had heard that you were coming to Vulcan," Sarek said in Standard as he took a seat near hers. "I admit, it surprised me. After so many years…"

"Eleven." T'Beth gripped her glass tightly. She could not help but think of her last days here, of the night she and her youthful companions vandalized the Golheni Temple outside ShiKahr, of her admission of guilt before ShiKahr's Council of Elders. That day Sarek had tried to defend her. Why? Out of some unspoken feelings of tenderness? Had Sarek ever shown even a hint of such tenderness toward his own son? That, more than anything, was what galled her.

She had not spoken a word to Sarek since he declared Spock ktorr skann. Had her grandfather even noticed? Silence _._ It was the family way. With the passing of time, she had seen her young brothers and sister on Earth become more and more the victims of this family silence, and she no longer wanted to be part of it. Like Jim Kirk, she would speak out—and it would begin right here, in Sarek's office.

Gathering her courage, she faced the ambassador. "Grandfather, you are the reason I came to Vulcan."

Sarek's graying eyebrow lifted. "Indeed."

"You follow the news. You've seen the tide of human opinion turning—against the prison on Luna, against my father's conviction." Sarek's eyes grew hooded, but she plunged on. "You've heard what Captain Kirk is saying…"

Sarek went still as stone. "I am not swayed by human opinion."

"But surely," she forged on, "any new facts that emerge should be taken into consideration…and examined logically."

His dark eyes bored into her. "Do you question my logic?"

T'Beth's heart beat against her chest like a frightened bird. "Where you son is concerned? Yes, Grandfather, I do."

Sarek stood. Tucking his hands into his wide sleeves, he gazed at a panel of hellish red glass. And then he said, "I have no son."

T'Beth came dangerously close to shouting. Setting her water down, she said, "I suppose you have no grandchildren, either. We all sprang miraculously from our mother's wombs. This name we share—S'chn T'gai—is nothing more than a bizarre accident. _Spock_ never happened." There. She had said it. She had spoken the forbidden name.

Lines of pain showed on Sarek's face. "The one of whom you speak is dead to me."

T'Beth rose to her feet. "I don't understand. You mourned when Spock died saving the Enterprise. Yet now that you've killed him in your heart, you seem to glory in it."

He closed his eyes and quietly said, "There is no glory."

"Then what?" she demanded, her temper heating. "You accuse him of murder and deceit—yet _you_ murdered his name and deceive yourself into believing it's logical!"

Sarek's head swung around. Anger flickered in his eyes. "What do you know of logic? Under which masters have you studied?"

"The human masters," came her bold reply, "who teach the way of forgiveness. The Donari masters who teach compassion. The Sy masters who teach the philosophy of the Open Hand." She paused for a ragged breath. Her face felt as if it were on fire. "Grandfather, there's more to the galaxy than Vulcan. You of all people should know that."

Sarek's voice held a sharp edge of warning. "You will not speak to me in this manner!"

"Why? I'm only saying the truth! And Vulcans value truth, don't they?"

He went totally silent. Then without looking at her, he said, "I have no time for your impertinence. You must leave now."

T'Beth knew she was defeated. Tears threatened her composure as she headed for the door, but there she stopped and forced herself to speak one last time. "I want to see Grandmother. Is she home in ShiKahr?"

Sarek's rigid pose faltered, as if she had struck yet another nerve. "No. Perhaps she is at Pashir."

 _Perhaps? At the height of Pashir's summer? Now there was a mystery…_

oooo

A touch on his shoulder roused Spock from a light meditative trance. Flat on his back, he opened his eyes…and found his eldest daughter gazing down at him. T'Beth stood next to the medical machines at his bedside, and contrary to her usual custom, made no effort to embrace him.

"Hello, Father," she said warmly.

"T'Beth," he admonished. "I do not know how you found me, but under the circumstances it would be better if you had stayed away."

Her gaze briefly shifted to the machines and back. "I…I came to see Grandmother. I had no idea you were here—but I wasn't followed. I'm almost sure of it."

"Almost." They could not take the chance. In another hour it would be dark. They would move on T'Naisa tonight. "You must leave at once. Your being here is dangerous, and as a member of Starfleet…"

"Starfleet!" she said in disgust. "Let me tell you something. It was bad enough when they sentenced you to prison, but do you know what happened after Lauren broke you out? A bunch of Security brass came around to remind me of my 'duty'. They actually wanted my help in tracking you down!" Her jaw set. "Well, I assure you, I gave _them_ a piece of my mind!"

Spock kept his expression carefully impassive. "You always were outspoken and impulsive. I am wondering if there has been another, more recent confrontation at ShanaiKahr. Sarek told you where to find your grandmother. Didn't he?"

The flush that tinged his daughter's cheeks was answer enough. T'Beth turned toward the window, where darkness was falling over the desert. Softly she said, "He wouldn't listen."

Spock watched a single tear slide down her youthful face. Such naiveté. Had she actually come expecting Sarek to heed her words? Had she thought a mere granddaughter could have any influence over him?

"T'Beth-kam," he said as gently as he could, "your grandfather is…" He cast about for a way to describe Sarek honestly but kindly. At last he simply said, "Your grandfather is Vulcan."

"He's a cold, aggravating, unreasonable man!" she declared without looking at him.

There was an interval of silence, filled by a faint clicking and humming from the medical equipment.

"Yes," Spock conceded, "Sarek can be cold and aggravating, but he is never unreasonable. Surely you did not accuse him of being less than logical."

T'Beth lowered her head and sighed. "Well…"

Spock carefully disengaged himself from the machines so that this time there were no alarms as he sat up and brought his legs over the side of the bed. T'Beth turned and watched him gingerly flex his legs. The numbness had receded, giving way to spasms of pain. There was no question that his nerves were very much alive.

Looking at his daughter, he reminded her, "Your grandfather has founded his entire life upon the concept of reason. You should know better than to suggest he is being unreasonable."

T'Beth came over and sat beside him on the bed. "Does Sarek really think he can shut you out of his life, then go on with the rest of us as if nothing's happened? I've had enough. As far as I'm concerned, _he's_ the one who doesn't exist anymore."

"T'Beth," Spock chided her.

"No." Her earnest eyes briefly glistened at him, then went to the hands in her lap. "I don't want to talk about this anymore."

Studying her determined profile, he said, "Very well."

Quietly she said, "You know, sometimes I think about those growing up years, and how we seldom seemed to understand one another."

Remembering those turbulent days of her childhood, he said, "Now that is something _I_ would rather not talk about."

A rueful smile touched her lips, only to fade away. "I bet," she said seriously.

Spock watched her hands fidget. "It is good," he said cautiously, "that things have changed for the better between us."

T'Beth nodded and glanced his way. The pained looked in her hazel eyes made him wonder if she was troubled about something other than Sarek.

"Father, there's something…" she began. Then stopped.

Suspecting a personal problem, he waited for her to continue. But rather than speak, she suddenly leaned over and put her arms tightly around him. As a matter of courtesy he kept his mind shielded from the emotions he sensed churning within her. But he was very curious.

oooo

It was time to go. Fighting down a thrill of nervousness, Lauren followed Spock and her step-daughter into the Vulcan night. With the help of fresh neuro-assist bands, Spock's footsteps were reassuringly steady, but even so, she was glad T'Beth would be joining them on the raid of T'Gara's house. _Raid._ A shocking prospect in this world where strict rules of behavior guaranteed personal privacy. But weren't there other important rules, as well? Ancient rules of justice that had been broken when the prison doors slid shut on an innocent man.

They boarded Amanda's skimmer in silence. T'Beth climbed into the back seat. Lauren sat in front with Spock, who took the controls. A moment later they were streaking through the darkness. Even at top speed, the journey would take the better part of an hour. Located high in the forbidding mountains of Gol, the small settlement of Pa'Gol was one of the most remote on the face of the planet.

Removing her seatbelt, T'Beth leaned forward between the seats. "Historically, Pa'Gol was a notorious Golheni stronghold and it's never died out completely. I'd feel a lot safer if we had a couple of phasers."

"Or perhaps a laser saw…?" Spock suggested in a dry tone.

Lauren sensed T'Beth wilting at the reference to her episode of teen vandalism. It was not like her to be so sensitive.

"You're never going to let me forget that," the girl said to her father, "are you? Okay then. I'll remind _you_ of something—like back at the academy when T'Naisa had a bead on you with that antique pistol, and you were unzipping your—"

"T'Beth, _please_ ," Lauren interrupted. She was nervous enough without listening to any bickering. "We'll have the element of surprise going for us. With any luck, we'll be in and out of there before they know what's hit them."

She expected Spock to tease her for mentioning anything as unscientific as luck, but he piloted the skimmer in silence. Lauren turned her attention on the desert. There was still a possibility that T'Beth was under Vulcan surveillance and they were flying straight into a trap.

T'Khut was slow in rising. Under cover of darkness, their skimmer crested a black peak and sailed over a windswept plateau. Lauren's pulse quickened as a sprinkling of lights came into view. They quickly neared the settlement of low stone buildings. Spock slowed the skimmer, and studying the town's layout, brought them in for a discreet landing on the outskirts.

He shut down the engine and pointed at the nearest house. "That should be it."

Lauren swung around in her seat. " _Should_ be?"

"According to Vulcan's GPS."

"All we need," she said, "is to break into the wrong place."

After leaving the skimmer, Spock drew out a medical tricorder he had been tinkering with and used it to scan the building. "T'Naisa's there," he said with certainty. "The only other occupant is a Vulcan woman—in all likelihood her mother, T'Gara."

They made quiet tracks to the home's rear entrance, only to find the door locked.

"Interesting," Spock murmured. He brought out a pocket flashlight and examined the security system.

"Typical for a Golheni," T'Beth whispered with some asperity. "Oh, I smell a guilty conscience, alright."

Lauren sincerely hoped T'Beth was correct—that the three of them weren't the culpable ones, about to break in on an innocent family and carry off a girl guilty of nothing more than jumping parole.

A hot gust of wind swept sand into their faces. Lauren was rubbing her eyes when Spock handed her the flashlight. She shone its beam on the lock as he worked at breaking its code. There was a faint click, then the door swung open.

Lauren switched off the light and her pulse quickened as she followed Spock inside. A pale wash of starlight filtered through the windows, revealing the Vulcan equivalent of a living room. Spock paused amid the shadowy furnishings to consult the tricorder. Then quietly he led them through the room. As they moved away from the windows, it took all of Lauren's concentration to keep from bumping into things.

They entered an area too dark for her human eyesight. A hallway? Reaching out, she found Spock's shoulder and hung on tight. She could hear T'Beth moving behind her.

Suddenly a light streamed from under a door. A woman's voice called in Vulcan, _"Kina—qual se tu?_ Daughter—is that you?

They froze.

Spock signaled to T'Beth, who was still in the rear. His meaning was obvious. _Watch your back._

Lauren began to turn toward her, and a hint of motion caught her eye. There was the sound of a blow. T'Beth stumbled into Lauren, then sprang back to meet her attacker. Lauren tried to get out of the way. There was a brief, furious struggle at her feet, and more action down the hall. Then silence.

An overhead light panel came on. Blinking, Lauren surveyed the scene. To her right, a dark-haired Vulcan woman lay crumped in a doorway. On her left, Spock and T'Beth were bending over a young redhead sprawled unconscious on the floor. _T'Naisa._

Lauren breathed a sigh of relief. Taking the tricorder from Spock, she gave the two woman quick diagnostic scans. Aside from a few bruises on T'Naisa, they were both suffering from nothing more than a Vulcan nerve pinch. When Lauren attempted to run a check on T'Beth, the girl pushed the instrument aside.

"I'm fine," she said impatiently. "Let's get out of here."

Spock lifted T'Naisa into his arms, and they headed for the skimmer.

oooo

Deep in thought, Spock stood near the bed where T'Naisa lay in her nightclothes, still unconscious. He did not like bringing her here to his parents' home, but Amanda had insisted—and given the circumstances, there had been little choice. Now his mother waited near Lauren and T'Beth, all of them gazing down at the angelic, red-haired halfling.

"Such a lovely girl," Amanda said softly.

Did he detect a note of misgiving in her voice? Or was he only hearing the doubt stirring deep in his own heart—the heart of a kidnapper? T'Naisa _was_ attractive with her flawless features and upswept brows and graceful Vulcanoid ears—extraordinarily so. That outer appearance of beauty would make it difficult for anyone to view her as a criminal. It had been difficult even for Spock to accept the ugliness she exhibited in his office at Starfleet Academy.

"Lovely," Lauren remarked bitingly, "like a snake. When I think of everything that girl's put us through…"

T'Beth said, "Look. She's starting to come out of it."

T'Naisa's head moved on the pillow. A delicate hand went to her face. Her thick lashes fluttered open. Her brown eyes skipped fearfully around the room and came to rest on Spock.

With a gasp, she sat upright.

"Yes," Spock told her, "I am here."

T'Naisa's face hardened with anger. Fully alert, she leaped off the far side of the bed. "Where am I? What have you done with my mother?"

"Your mother is at her home, unharmed," Spock said levelly. "And you, T'Naisa Brandt, are under arrest."

Her eyes took stock of the three women before returning to him. She began to laugh. "On what authority? You're an escaped con. Your wife's on the run, too."

"Not anymore," Spock informed her. "We are about to turn you over and surrender ourselves."

Her smile faded. "Why me? What do you care about me?"

"I believe," Spock said, "that you know the answer to that."

T'Naisa frowned convincingly. "I don't get it. So I ran out on my parole. I wasn't bothering you any."

"Weren't you? Are you sure there is not something more you should tell me…and Starfleet? Something regarding two Enterprise crewmen whose testimony sent me to prison?"

Tears formed in her eyes. She rubbed her head as if it hurt. "I don't know what you're talking about. Take me home. You have no right to keep me here."

Spock studied the former cadet. "It might be that you are correct. If you are willing to prove your innocence to me, I shall let you go free—with apologies."

T'Naisa crossed her arms over the front of her nightgown and glared at him, her chin lifting defiantly. "Prove it? How?"

Spock came around the bed, so there was no longer anything standing between them. He raised his right hand, fingers spread in the meld position.

Her eyes widened. Her arms came down and she backed herself into a wall.

"The choice is yours," he said. "I will not force you."

She cursed him under her breath, using the crudest of Vulcan words. Then her expression grew cunning and her hand went to the fiery hair draped over the shoulder of her gown. "Alright," she said at last, "if that's what it will take. But I don't want _them_ watching."

The request came as no surprise to Spock. She would have her own motive for surrendering her mind to his—one that had nothing to do with innocence. It was as if he saw her plan clearly, along with its ugly, inevitable outcome and all that it would demand of him.

He looked over at his wife. Lauren appeared anxious as she shook her head, clearly meaning, _no—don't do it._ But here was a woman who had sacrificed everything to break him out of a corrupt prison system. Now, in order to exonerate her, he would make his own kind of sacrifice.

"Leave us," he said.

T'Beth and Amanda took hold of Lauren and walked her from the room. The door closed behind them, and for a moment Spock remained as he was. A distasteful task was never easy to face, and he needed to prepare well for this one.

Turning, he confronted T'Naisa. Dark, scheming eyes locked with his.

Slowing approaching her, he warned, "Do not think that you can overpower me—either physically or mentally."

She made no response and he continued on, stopping mere inches away—so near that he could detect the floral scent left by her fresher; so near that he could sense the force of her energies, the Vulcan and the human, reaching out to those like parts within him.

Her eyebrow arched. "Afraid?" she taunted.

Spock did what he could to focus. As his fingers met the smooth skin of her face, a mental whirlwind began to stir. Wordlessly, he asked her permission to proceed further.

The request brought a smile to her lips. Obviously her study of Vulcan customs had included something of their sexual habits. It began as a fondling on the psi-sensitive areas of his free hand. Then opening her thoughts, she showed him the many enticing ways in which she would like them to join, physically as well as mentally. Then her mouth found its way to his. Her kiss began sweetly and grew into a deep, demanding passion.

Spock felt a part of himself starting to respond. He brought his free hand up. Catching hold of her hair, he forced her face away from his.

T'Naisa cried out in pain and tried to escape. Spock pushed her against the wall and held on, one hand still in her hair, the other at her meld points.

Her mind shrieked in protest. It was as he had thought. Little fool—she never had any intention of being honest with him. She wanted only to seduce him, toy with him, and so create for herself an opportunity to escape.

Spock tightened his grip on her. T'Naisa saw his intent, but her struggles were as weak and ineffectual as those of a child. Baring her teeth, she cursed fluently as he drove deep, searching amid the turmoil. It did not take long. The simple technique she had used on the human crewmembers was of no use against a fully trained Vulcan mind. He found what he was looking for, then released her.

Weeping and raging, she threw herself at him. "Animal! Liar! You said you wouldn't force me!"

Spock caught her flailing fists and was tempted to snap them. "I asked your permission and you freely gave it. You begged me to enter you. Do you deny it?"

"I despise you!" she hissed, straining to free herself.

He held tight to her wrists. "Do you? Is that why you offered yourself to me after your expulsion from the academy? Is that why you came after me and my family when I refused to accommodate you? Is that why you made it appear as if I tried to murder Captain Kirk?"

Flames leapt from her eyes.

"This is what you've always wanted, isn't it?" Spock questioned. "My hands touching you. My undivided attention."

T'Naisa made one last effort to throw him off, then went still. Her head bowed and tears coursed down her stricken face as she admitted, "When we first met…I was in awe of you. Yet…I felt as if I knew you…as if I always had...as if we were destined to be together." Her eyes rose, damp and brown and unfailingly seductive. "We are two of a kind, you and me…"

Disgusted, Spock released her and said, "No, T'Naisa. We are not."

oooo

Day was dawning. The leading edge of Eridani stained the eastern sky crimson as Lauren stood close beside her husband on the terrace. The air was hot, but there was no warming the cold knot of fear inside her. Since the day she stole Spock out from under Admiral Morrow's nose, they had been working toward this moment. After months of fleeing across the galaxy, living as fugitives, they had finally accomplished what they set out to do. Yet more than ever, she was afraid.

She leaned against Spock and his arm went around her. She needed to feel the solidity of his physical presence while she still could. In a matter of minutes Starfleet representatives were arriving to accept their official surrender, and an armed escort would take them into custody, along with T'Naisa Brandt.

Lauren thought of the devious halfling in the house, under T'Beth's guard. She hoped T'Naisa would be locked away for a long time to come. There was no doubt that Spock would be confined pending the review of his conviction and the investigation into the other charges against him. Would they send him straight back to Luna?

Turning suddenly, she looked into his eyes. "Leave, Spock! There's still time. I'll take T'Naisa in. You can give yourself up later, after Starfleet's had time to sort out the truth."

Spock took her hands into his own, and she could feel him working to control his own fears. With finality he said, "We will surrender together."

"But they'll—"

His grip on her hands tightened. "They will study the evidence. Starfleet will see that I was falsely convicted, and the prison investigation will turn up so many abuses that you will surely be pardoned. Soon you will be back with our children. Think of them. They are all that matters."

 _"_ _You_ matter, too..." She choked on the words.

There was a sound off in the desert, the humming of an angry insect growing louder, drawing nearer. Her heart aching, she threw her arms around Spock in one last embrace.

The shuttlecraft streaked in and circled low, stirring clouds of reddish dust. Shielding their eyes, Lauren and Spock watched the craft settle on an adjacent spit of land. A squad of Starfleet humans stormed onto the terrace, phasers drawn.

Spock placed his hands on top of his head and Lauren followed his example. She was glad that he had convinced his mother to leave Pashir until this was over. There was no reason for her to see it.

"So you've had enough," declared the young officer in charge.

"We willingly surrender," Spock said, then nodded in the direction of the house. "T'Naisa Brandt is being held inside. I was given to understand that you bear a special order to arrest her on behalf of the Federation."

The officer sent a pair of guards to apprehend her. T'Naisa emerged with hands cuffed, and T'Beth followed her onto the terrace, arms folded tightly.

The officer ordered Lauren and Spock to lie face-down on the flagging, with arms outstretched. Humiliated, Lauren followed Spock's lead yet again.

"There's no need for that!" T'Beth objected.

The arresting officer ignored her as he had them scanned and cuffed. Then tapping his combadge, he informed his superior that the fugitives were now safely in custody.

Lauren rested her cheek on the gritty terrace. The rising sun was hot on her back. How long would the guards leave them on the ground? Would T'Beth be able to control her temper? She heard slow, measured footsteps moving toward them. A pair of soft Vulcan sand boots came into view. She craned her neck for a better look. The Vulcan was male and though showing signs of age, clearly resembled her husband. His dark, hawkish eyes passed over her and settled on Spock with such icy disdain that Lauren shivered. She had met the unpleasant man at a clan function nearly four years ago—Spock's uncle. Had Sarek sent his brother Sparn to observe the proceedings?

"Go ahead!" T'Beth burst out. "Stare, you arrogant, sadistic son-of-a-bitch!"

Sparn turned his scornful gaze on her. "Ah. The young diplomat. Just as insolent as that day I took a sturpa to you."

T'Beth's fists clenched as if she would like very much to pay him back. Instead, she whirled and went into the house.

Guards pulled Lauren and Spock to their feet. Sparn turned from his disgraced nephew and headed for the shuttle. Everyone began to file off the terrace. A guard tugged at Lauren's arm and she fell into line, leaving Amanda's property, walking over the sand-blown countryside. Ahead of her, Spock entered the shuttle without a backward glance, but she paused on the gangplank. It might be the last time either of them stepped foot on this world—Spock's world—and she would commit every detail to memory.

"Move," the guard ordered.

Steeling herself, Lauren turned and followed the others inside.

oooOOooo


End file.
